Heart of Gold
by BelhavenOnTap
Summary: As they struggle to keep Charming drug-free, the untimely death of an SOA ally brings a stranger to town. Will she be able to help SOA or not? Naturally, it will be left up to Jax to find out.
1. A Prius in Charming?

Disclaimer: SOA does not belong to me. Darn it.

A/N: I decided to entitle this fic "Heart of Gold" because I think Jax does have one and also I think it's pretty obvious Jax is searching for more from life than his compadres, so I think Neil Young's song sums that lovely boy right up.

It was just another warm day in sunny Northern California. Nothing was quiet about it in the bays of the Teller Morrow shop. No one was even pretending to be busy. They really were busy. It seemed like everyone in town had a blown head gasket or dead radiator. Jax, who had been sweating his ass off underneath a crappy old '69 Dodge Charger that somebody had pipedreams of restoring and seeing on the stupid Barrett Jackson car auction, was ready for a break after clumps of rust kept popping off and heading straight for his nose. He set aside his wrench and had every intention of telling Clay to go fuck himself for sending the job his way but instead swallowed his malice, wished he didn't want a cigarette but knew he would go have one anyway out on the front lot before heading to the office to visit Abel, who was no doubt asleep in his playpen next to his mother's desk. Hopefully she wasn't in there smoking like a freight train. The second hand smoke discussion was something she had started. Ironically, he noticed the distinct odor of air freshener and cigarette smoke every time he walked into the office to see his six month old.

He blew his nose into a shop towel and cursed that Charger piece of crap when he examined the rust-colored snot.

"Thinking about lunch?" Tig snickered, having noticed Jax' preoccupation with the phlegm on the shop towel.

"Split it with you if you want. No charge." Jax grinned, turning the paper around for Tig to view.

"You really got the shaft with that rusted out piece of shit, didn't you?" Tig laughed.

"Gets better. The old bastard wants it painted orange." Jax answered, walking away.

"Does he want a fucking rebel flag on top too?" Tig snorted and Jax just threw his hands in the air as he headed out into the sun.

Jax stared a bit tiredly at the road as he sucked on his cigarette guiltily. He really was trying to quit for Abel. He didn't smoke at all at the house or at night anymore. Well, that is, if he was at home with Abel. But it was really hard when all the other guys were smoking. He didn't want his ass to swell up like Bobby's but eating did seem like the only other alternative, so there they would be sitting around the table, all the other guys smoking and Jax stuffing himself with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey. Then he would go get on his mom's treadmill and later feel like hurling up the ice cream and all the beer he had drunk. They really didn't mix, especially after running and jostling the growing gut. Growing gut, growing butt. Everything was expanding but he'd always been on the skinny side and the ten pounds he had put on wasn't appearing to affect his reputation as Charming's favorite man-whore. The females were as abundant as ever. That was another thing. With Tara gone back to Chicago and Wendy agreeable to being solely platonic although rather unhelpful with Abel, females young and old were coming out of the woodwork to offer their company, reassurance, comfort—hell, anything except what he really wanted: homemade casseroles that provided lots of leftovers. Well, at least, enough to get him through until Sunday dinner. At least Abel still ate baby food. There were nights, and he would never admit this to anyone, that he ate jarred baby food too, the prospect of cooking too daunting. However, he would rather starve than eat those baby food peas, so he didn't feed them to Abel either. A taste tester, that was what he was. Who was he kidding? He was just fucking exhausted between work, the family and the kid. And the leftovers his mom sent home with him from Sunday dinners always ran out by Tuesday.

He absolutely refused to admit to Gemma Morrow that he could not cook. That would cause a shitstorm unlike no other and soon he and Abel would find themselves living with his mom and Clay. Maybe he could just smoke this one cigarette today.

What the hell?

Yes, he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. It wasn't the moving truck they had all been expecting to head through town that caught his eye but what was tailing it. And what he saw made him laugh because the sight was so ridiculous. A real laugh. It was a fucking Toyota Prius with a huge solar panel on the top of it, towing—yes, towing—a motorcycle trailer behind it. Pretty little ride. An 883 hugger with a pretty little custom paint job in pearl and espresso. Looked about 2 years old, no body damage. Dark windows on the Prius. You dumbass, Jax, looking at the bike instead of the passenger. Typical. Martin wouldn't have been caught dead in a Prius or on a bike for that matter. But Martin was dead, so what the fuck did it matter anyway?

"Looks like Martin's replacement has hit town, Mom." Jax called, entering her office, after observing her for a moment puffing on a cig. Yep, he was right. He bumbled around the doorway so she could put it out and push the little mister of air freshener next to her adding machine, prior to entering but made a mental note to replace the air freshener with pickle juice just to jack with his mother. He knew she'd be pissed but would never say anything when she sprayed her entire desk with vinegary stink. Oh, he knew the payback would be a bitch but would be amusing nonetheless. After accusing her of farting in the car once, he noticed his pillowcase kept smelling like farts and lo and behold, one night he walked in his room and found her ripping a giant one on his pillow.

"Why are you laughing?" Gemma asked suspiciously, because he had burst into laughter at the memory, as he walked over to Abel's crib.

"Umm, look at him." Jax laughed, pointing at his six month old who was asleep with one finger up his nose. Quick save. That was convenient.

"Like father, like son." She replied and Jax could hear that she was not convinced of his veracity.

"We've got style. What can we say?" he said quietly, kneeling in front of the playpen where Abel slept peacefully and sincerely smiled at his son.

"So you said you saw Martin's replacement?"

"Yeah, moving van followed by a Prius hauling a Harley."

"A Prius in Charming?"

"I think the warranty has been voided on it too." Jax laughed at the memory. "It has a huge solar panel on top of it and a trailer hitch."

"A field biologist should be interested in energy conservation. So Dr. Hannah Hartley has a Harley. That's quite a mouthful."

The advent of Hannah Hartley, the head biologist for the region after Martin Brown's untimely death on Mount Shasta which was suspected to be at the hands of the Nords, had been the object of much discussion within SAMCRO. The club had always been stewards of the public lands and Martin had relied on their support. They were ready to offer it to this unknown woman with a PhD and no ties at all to Northern California as far as anyone could tell. As far as anyone could tell, that being as deep as Juice could dig, Hannah Hartley had only begun to exist a few years ago, appearing on the scene in Santa Barbara as a researcher in the Botanical Garden there, then taking the Los Padres field biologist position before Martin's demise. Nothing prior in her past other than some research papers and a resume could be excavated on the 34 year old woman. All she seemed to be was a stellar academic with a knack for field work and no doubt a boatload of naiveté. Martin had kept the drugs off the public lands for 26 years and had been an ally and practically a godfather to Jax. It was essential that this woman keep Martin's work going and not just hug the fucking trees. She also needed to understand that SAMCRO would be there to protect her.

Jax hoped Clay would not lay it on too thick at first and scare the shit out of her. Surely, living in SoCal, she knew a little bit about Northern California and how more people owned handguns in Shasta County per capita than in Los Angeles County. Surely, she knew about the paranoia. Surely, she knew something.

He knew what happened when you assumed, so he just smiled at Abel while he slept and was thankful for the short respite from the madness he knew was sure to follow.


	2. Jax's Vantage Point

**AN: For those of you who have read my other two stories, you will recognize a few names here. I couldn't let Leah go. I told you I hated myself for killing her. And sorry, folks, unless you really, really want it, this will not be a crossover, although I can completely see an entry for it. Down, Bel, down...At any rate, for giggles and shites, let's just suppose that Leah survived. Here is the rest of her story. And if this is the beginning for you, her full backstory isn't necessary to read unless you're just really intrigued. Please see my profile if you're interested.**

It had become second nature now to introduce herself as Hannah Hartley. Murph had told her that Hartley was an noble Irish surname, meaning "hero" and well, he had just always liked the name Hannah, almost as much as the name Leah, he said and grabbed her nose, laughing, always amazing her with his endless mirth even when it was forced. At that time, it had been forced.

She didn't scour the news for word of them anymore. She knew that Murph would find her if he needed to. She also knew that Connor would never know that secret. Connor, the person she didn't think of every moment everyday anymore. For that, she was thankful. Strange or not, it was Murph that she missed more than anyone else, even more than Connor or her parents.

"Don't go down that road, ye great idiot." She chuckled to herself, indulging herself in that accent she had tried not to let herself miss for so many years now. She looked around her new home. It was much bigger than her little shack in Ojai, and she was relieved that she still had money left in the bank. Of course, the wallpaper was hideous. The carpet needed replacing but the hardwood floors were sound and the lot was filled with trees. She could plow up a spot for a garden on the acre. It was a perfect cozy home for one person who tended to read quite a bit, work to over-exhaustion, and hop on her motorcycle when she got the chance. Murph would approve.

Not tonight. Not your first night in a new place. He's not here. He's not going to be here. You step out that door, you are Hannah. Always Hannah from now on.

It was no surprise that a few hours later she wound up in tears, something she hadn't done in a long time. She went down that road. She knew she was bitterly alone, something she had been promised she would never be. She thought of the last time she and Connor had made love, how they had laughed, how his face looked, how it felt, how his hands were the only hands she had ever wanted to touch her. She thought of the many nights after—after what she refused to think about now, what Connor never could think about, when Connor became afraid to even look at her much less touch her, when that was all she wanted. She thought of all the nights she ended up crying on the living room sofa and Connor stayed in the bedroom, and somehow Murph knew, and Murph came and Murph held her and weathered the storm with her in his brother's place. In the end, it was easier to leave her husband than the man who understood her, his brother, the man whose heart she knew she had broken.

"To ye, Murphy MacManus, wherever the hell ye are. Ye silly wonderful bastard that saved me rotten life." She said still imitating the Irish lilt, lifting her highball of Jameson's, as she soaked in a bubble bath of green tea scented water. Murph had been right. Why buy the expensive stuff when the cheapest Irish whiskey was the best?

Of course, to Jax who had been observing the much-pondered Hannah Hartley pace in her living room, as she cried and began downing a bottle of Irish whiskey then moved to the tub where she began talking to herself and saluting someone or something, he could not hear, as he observed from a tree that gave quite the view into her bathroom, Hannah Hartley seemed, in his professional opinion, fucked up like a big dog. She would fit in perfectly in Charming.

Maybe she was just nervous about the job. Who wouldn't be? It had to be the shittiest detail in California no doubt but she was into rare, endemic plants, according to her publications per Juice, and as Jax recalled Martin telling him on all those Boy Scout trips when he was a kid, there were a shit ton of rare, endemic plants in the area. And really, who didn't pace their living room getting loaded? That's precisely what he did on the nights his mom and Clay kept Abel, when they thought he was going out and getting laid. She really ought to lay off the whiskey though. Great, he thought, rubbing his chin, what if she passes out in the fucking tub, then what would he do?

After about an hour he felt like a true pervert. Wendy never stayed in the bathtub like this Hartley woman. And good god, she was going to drink the whole bottle. She was going to be hungover as shit tomorrow for her first day on the job. And the bubbles from her bubble bath were starting to diffuse, revealing a slender form with an ogle-worthy rack. She didn't stop crying. This was miserable. He hated watching people cry. And he really did feel like a huge peeping tom. With the amount of ice cream he had been eating lately, huge was right. My ass is going to break this branch, sending my big ass out of this fucking tree through her fucking skylight. And then all hell is going to break loose with drunk, naked, grief-stricken woman. But he had his orders. Gather intel. What, be a fucking peeper?

Maybe a welcoming party? Hey, go get some ice cream and say you've come to welcome her to the neighborhood. No, dumbass, just light a fucking cigarette and get your mind off the fucking ice cream. No, no cigarettes. Shit, why did she have to be in the fucking bathtub and attractive and crying?

Oh, perfect. Jax watched her bolt from the tub and take up a reverential position to the toilet. I really am a pervert, sitting here thinking she has a nice ass as she pukes her guts up. Fucking pervert watching the last suds drip off her, he thought. Well, at least, she'll get rid of all that whiskey. So, the ice cream idea was totally out now. Bottled water? He felt compelled to help. He always felt compelled to help, and she really did look like she was in distress. Oh, man, you know it's bad when the puke flies back out of the toilet into your hair and on your face. She had ordered a pizza earlier. Luigi's always diced the bell peppers instead of leaving them in strips and that made it harder to get them out of your hair. More tears as she tried to remove the pizza chunks from her long blond hair. He knew that feeling. Dammit, he thought. Why couldn't someone else get this assignment? This was a big fuck you, Clay.

Now this was interesting. Drunken dialing. He guessed the vomiting was over. Nope, clapped the phone shut instantly. No, bucking up and dialing again. Shut it again? Damn. Okay, here we go. Now, Jax could have told Hannah Hartley that drunken dialing was always a mistake but this time she seemed intent on making the call. Well, maybe she'd get an interesting visitor. Chibs would call him a _bloody_ perv at that thought. She really did need to put a robe on. The towel was slipping over the nice cleavage and gaping a bit too. No sags, no silicone, no wrinkles, cute tan lines—really cute tan lines on her feet. Why did she have to be naked? What the fuck was he going to report anyway: that she got drunk, naked, had really cute toes and had a nervous breakdown? What was that song anyway with the line "no touch of silicone" in it? Crap, his brain was so muddled.

* * *

"Aye?"

She couldn't believe she heard his voice. He had promised her he would always keep this number and only for her to use.

"It's you, isn't it, Murph?" she whimpered, hugging the towel around her. She was shivering now but not from the cold.

"'Tis. I don't believe it. Don't hang up. Don't hang up." She heard him call out that he was going out for a smoke. She heard Connor in the background. She heard Connor's voice. "Leah, it's really ye."

"I had to call. I had to hear your voice. I had to. I miss you so much." She said, her breath coming in pants.

"Talk ta me. Tell me what's wrong. I can hear it in yer voice."

She immediately felt guilty and tried to sound happy as she told him about her new job, her new house, how she had learned to ride a motorcycle, how she had a tan and blond hair, how she loved the mountains. But by the end of her monologue, she was sobbing again.

"Do ye need me ta come ta ya, Leah? If ye do, I'll come tonight. If ye want me to, I'll come. Just ask me and I'll be with ye."

"I can't do that, Murph. I can't do that to him. You're all he has left."

"I guess. And besides, I always had the hots fer yer mother anyway."

She laughed. God, she had missed laughing at him. "So you finally admit it!"

"Only ta ye."

"Have you spoken to her?"

"Aye."

"How is she?"

"Do ye really want ta know all of this, darlin'?"

"Please, Murph."

"She divorced yer dad. He'd been cattin' around on her fer years. I talk ta her at holidays and such. She's doin' fine. Not datin' anyone. Figure she's waitin' fer me."

Leah swallowed. "Divorced? When?"

"It's been about five years now. Soon after ye—"

"Yes." She felt a fresh wave of tears coming on. "It's been five years, Murph. My whole life gone. Five years I haven't seen or talked to you."

"Don't think I don't know it, love. Are ye alright? Do I need ta come? Ye've never called before. I'm comin' anyway."

"No, Murph. I just wanted to know you were still in this world. Take care of him and take care of yourself. And don't do what you've been doing for my sake."

She heard only silence on the other end. "Murph?"

"Aye, I'm here, Leah. I'm always here fer ya. Sounds like ye need me."

"I'm just drunk."

"And cruel. Always cruel, aren't ya?" She heard him laugh. "Don't ye go becoming a drunk on me."

"I won't. It just hurt tonight." She answered honestly.

"Goddammit, Leah. It hurts every night." She heard him sigh. "I've been drinkin' too. Yer husband's in the other room. I shouldn't be talkin' to ya. I should tell him—"

"No, Murph. Please don't. I didn't mean to put you in this position. I just had to talk to you. I just wanted to talk to you. Connor didn't know what to say to me then and he wouldn't know now. Please don't tell him. Please, Murph."

"I have ta know yer okay, love."

"I am. It's just, I guess, my life is about to change tomorrow."

"What do ye mean, Leah?"

"My new job. Lots of responsibility. It's intimidating."

"I'm comin'. That's tha end of it. I won't have ye afraid."

"Murphy, listen to me. You have to stay with him. You are all he has."

She heard him swallow. "Leah, listen ta me. And ye listen well. I've never told ye—"

"Don't. Don't tell me. I already know." She began to cry, full of regret.

"Please."

"Murph, we were so young. That's all I can say. I'd change it all if I could."

"Ye won't let me say it, when I may never see ya again in life? Don't ye know how much I've wanted ta come ta ya, ta leave this life even if it was only ta set eyes on ya?" She heard him begin to cry. Murph was never afraid to cry like Connor was. Murph had always been so honest. But this was getting too honest. "Why won't ye let me say it to ya? We used ta tell each other all the time."

"It meant something different then, Murph."

"Fer ye, Leah."

"I didn't mean to upset you, Murph. Really I didn't."

"I don't care what ye say to me, Leah. Ye should know that. Anythin' ta hear yer voice. Anythin' fer a bit o' ya, my love." She heard him chuckle. "There. Got me point across to spite ya."

"Oh, Murph. I shouldn't have done this." She sobbed.

"Will ye answer one question?"

"Not the one I know you will ask."

"We could be happy, Leah." She heard the deep breath he exhaled.

"No, Murphy MacManus, we could have been happy. It was just never meant to be."

"And I'll always want it, Leah. Whenever yer lonely, know I love ye, okay? Know I'd be with ye if ye'd let me. I know ye won't, so ye listen now, and ye listen well. Ye find a new man. Stop waitin'. Find one who's smart and kind and understands ya. Find one who can be good fer ya, because I've soiled me hands. And I know that's no good fer ya as much as I want ya."

"Murph, no. You are a good man."

"I'm a killer fer fuck's sake."

"You didn't have to be. I never wanted you to be."

"I'm sorry, Leah. Please don't cry. I'm so glad ta hear yer voice. Yer goin' ta have a good life. Yer strong. Yer honest. Yer decent. Yer sincere. Yer beautiful. Yer everythin' a person should be. If I had ta guess, yer life is gettin' ready ta become wonderful, everythin' I'd want fer ya, and I want tha world fer ya. Truly."

Jax watched her fold the phone in half and set it aside, as she stared at her hands for a moment then buried her face in them and cried more. He wondered who it was she had called. It didn't really matter. This poor woman looked so miserable and so vulnerable. He felt as though he had invaded a truly private moment in her life, that he really should not have been there watching her. And yet, he was glad he had seen it. He somehow felt less alone like there was someone else that might truly understand what he felt like most of the time.


	3. On the Job

Jax watched her down a whole liter of bottled water and some vitamin B-12 tablets and then pour the remaining whiskey down the sink. He saw her look at her reflection in the glass patio door and scowl at what she saw. He wondered what made her so sad and disgusted with herself. He knew what evoked those feelings in himself but she looked so innocent and if he had to guess, he would bet she was fairly innocent, not hardened like so many women her age, the ones that wanted to call themselves "old ladies." Jesus, the aspiration to be someone's "old lady" by the time you were twenty-five.

She really was going to have to get some window coverings, he thought, relieved when he saw her shiver and finally go retrieve a pair of pajamas to wear. Much better. Now I don't have to feel like such a fucking peeper, although he had never seen anyone make a pair of pajamas look so appealing. Had she lost someone she loved? Who was the person on the phone? Why had the call made her more sad? Well, most of a bottle of Jameson's would have that effect on that stupid purple dinosaur. Abel would under no circumstances be watching that fucking giggling dinosaur that sounded like its nuts were being squeezed.

Well, at least she knew how to stave off a hangover. She opened up another liter of water and began drinking it. Jax was relieved when she didn't blow any more groceries and finally walked into her bedroom and lay down on the bed and shut off the lights. That meant his job for the night was complete. Yet his mind was still racing. He scrambled down the tree and trotted down the street to the spot where he had parked his motorcycle and on his ride home, thought of nothing else but what could be eating up Hannah Hartley, whom he would attempt not to ogle when they met for the first time officially. Maybe she would wear one of those Park Service jackets like Martin had worn all those years and the sheer creepiness of ogling someone wearing something Martin would wear would prevent him ogling the very ogle-worthy Hannah Hartley. The Park Service jackets were extremely unrevealing at the very least. Well, that is, unless she was wearing it and nothing else. Dammit, Jax, you are a fucking pervert. Oh, the song was "She's so High," that was it. Oh, and how fucking appropriate, he thought as he began to whistle the tune on his way home.

* * *

She couldn't believe she had talked to Murph the night before when she woke the next morning, that she had heard Connor's voice in the background, that Murph was willing to pick up and leave for her all these years later. Murph had said something that was wise: it was time for her to move on. She shouldn't have called. The only time she would ever call again would be to tell him to come to her. And that would be too much betrayal and she couldn't abide any more. That part of her life was so tainted, except for the memory of Murph. Good grief, that was tainted too in so many ways, she knew. If only Connor had been able to—just focus on today, Leah—Hannah, you are Hannah. You've been Hannah for years now. And you're getting through today in a new place with new people. Worst case scenario, if it's bad here, you pick up and move. Case settled, helmet on.

The scenery was beautiful on the way to the field station on the National Forest road. She noticed that The Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club spent quite a bit of time adopting sections of the road to keep clean. She wondered if they were Harley people, probably just some old hippie retirees that came up with that silly name. Maybe they had Saturday rides and would let her join them on their rides. She wondered what shop they used for maintenance. Hopefully it was local. Her bike was in good shape and she could do much of the work herself but it was always useful to know a good shop. She preferred to do business with people locally and keep money in the local economy with small businesses. The Sons of Anarchy, now that really was a silly name. They couldn't be outlaw bikers if they cared so much about keeping litter off the roadside. The Sons of Anarchy adopted road stretches were cleaner than those adopted by The Rotary Club and The Boy Scouts. She had heard there were throngs of outlaw bikers in Northern California but she doubted that she would encounter any.

Her bike didn't have those stupid, loud Screaming Eagle pipes on it, just the reasonably quiet exhaust that had come with the bike. The custom paint had been her only real splurge. There had been no real reason to make the bike into something it would never be. It was the smallest Harley Davidson produced but it could at least have a beautiful paint job. She had seen a 1947 Indian Chief in Santa Barbara which inspired her paint job and the custom brown leather insert for the center of the seat. Other than that, it was strictly stock parts and ran very quietly. However, it appeared the entire office was waiting for their new boss. She had been sure to allow herself extra time this morning to get ready, to pay special attention to her hair especially after last night's bender, so she could arrive at least ten minutes early. However, it seemed that the office had arrived even earlier and planned a little party.

She refused to let her eyes well up in relief. She scarfed down some kind of fantastic muffin Linda one of the secretaries had brought in from some bakery in town, which Linda told her used all organic ingredients. Linda insisted that she eat another one. She liked Linda's gravelly voice but especially Linda's old Shovelhead Superglide which was parked outside. Linda said they would soon hear the roar of Maggie's iron Sporty coming up the hill, if the thing would start this morning. Maggie was the APHIS inspector for the area and was going out to a farm that morning before heading in for the party. Lyle, the USGS rep for the area, who officed in the building said they better save Maggie a couple muffins because she was likely to be in a foul mood, which made Sam the regional herpetologist, chuckle. She's going to check on some chickens, Dr. Hartley. Oh, please call me Hannah, she said and blew a few crumbs into her napkins, giggling at the pun. And then she thought about it a little more, relaxed and started sincerely laughing at the pun.

* * *

Jax instantly liked the sound of her voice, as she talked to Gemma, whom Linda had called to meet them for lunch at a little café in Charming. Hannah Hartley had been given the thumbs up by Linda. Apparently, she had even commented on how well "some motorcycle club called The Sons of Anarchy" were taking care of the adopted roadside areas and had asked Linda if she knew any of these people and were they a bunch of retirees from the Bay Area. Jax had been ordered to clean up and take Half Sack and Juice with him to the café. No jackets. Plain shirts, covering the tattoos and for christ's sake, find a cap for Juice's head. Jax had also been told to really wash his hair and put on clean socks. Revenge would be his for that comment, maybe some Nair in her conditioner bottle for that. He did not have oily hair, he thought wishing he could grumble out loud but he knew better.

"It was terrible really. Lyle and Sam started making me laugh with puns and my coffee went up my nose and shot out into the muffin box. I'm surprised Linda invited me to lunch." From a nearby table, Jax watched as well as he could over his shoulder, as she cringed at Linda and Gemma. He wanted to laugh.

"I'm going to set up a fortress around my food when I'm around you, sweetie." Linda said, moving the napkin box and a few menus in front of her plate with a grin.

"I'll just try not to make you laugh." Gemma said pleasantly. "Now, I can't say anything for those jokers sitting at that table there. Jackson Teller, would you and your friends be so generous as to speak to your mother. I know you know I am here with your Aunt Linda."

Shit, Mom, a little warning would be nice. And great, make me look like an ass. But, yes, I know it's what you do best.

He stood up and turned around and the first thing that happened was he met Hannah Hartley's bright green eyes. Before he could process the idea that she was not wearing a jacket like the one Martin always wore but rather a slim-fitting oxford style shirt which hugged the area he wanted to ogle, he had reason to curse the lack of tread on his beloved vintage Stan Smith Adidas that all the guys always ridiculed when he slipped in what must have been spilled soup and landed on his now very wet ass staring up into Hannah Hartley's rather pretty face. Okay, so it was very pretty. And he was sitting in soup.

What was worse was she had just taken a big drink of her tea and from the look in her eye, he knew what he had just done was getting ready to cause a repeat of her coffee that morning. He couldn't help but grin as she began to turn red and quiver, reaching for her napkin.

"Go on, just blow it out your nose on me. I couldn't get much wetter." He laughed, then winked at her. "You know, I'm always delighted to be the _butt_ of someone's joke."

Her eyes widened and he roared with laughter as he watched her fight to swallow the tea, which she finally did. His mother raised a brow at him. Oh, Mom, what the hell would you know about being uninhibited and really laughing and not trying to control the whole world and anticipate everything? Then he saw something he was not really sure he liked in his mother's eye, the hatching of a plan. Now, that took the fun right out of it.

"Are you okay?" Hannah Hartley asked immediately, once she was able to speak.

Before he could answer, his mother answered, "Jackson is usually much more coordinated. And it takes a lot more than falling on his backside to decommission him, isn't that right, son?"

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be, Mom, but I think I'll live. Thanks for your concern even though I know you were trying not to laugh. I'm Jackson Teller and you're--?" he said, knowing damn well what her name was but thinking the-naked-drunk-vomiting-sobbing-beautiful-woman-that-cleans-up-perfectly.

She blushed and conceded his point about trying not to laugh at his misfortune, then extended her hand to him, pulling him with a surprisingly strong tug for such a small female to his feet, "I'm Hannah Hartley. I work with Linda at the field station."

"Martin's job, Jackson." Linda said. How well we all play dumb, he thought.

"Wow. You must be really smart. Martin was my Boy Scout leader and he knew everything about—well, everything." Jax said, finding himself a little mesmerized by her eyes and feeling a little stupid. "Thanks for pulling me up off the floor, by the way."

"You're welcome. Will you sit with us? And no, I don't know everything about anything. Not nearly and I think I have huge shoes to fill in Martin's place." She said, gesturing to the chair next to her. "I met him once at a meeting last year and liked him very much. I am so sorry for your loss."

"Oh, Hannah, don't let him sit in that chair. His backside is filthy now. Jackson, you go home and change your pants." His mother snarked. Thanks, Mom.

"Look, Mrs. Morrow—Gemma, let's just put some napkins down. It'll be fine. Unless you're cold?" Hannah said, giving him what Jax thought was a soul-piercing look. He would have said he was fine even if he was hypothermic. He also took the opportunity to flare his nostrils at his mother just to irritate her.

"I'm okay, but Mom's probably right." He answered, hoping she would do exactly what she did: toss her own napkin across the chair. "Or I guess I could sit."

"Yes." She smiled brightly. And it was good to see the face he had seen so desperate the previous evening look so cheerful. "Who are your friends?"

"Hannah," said Gemma, pointing to Half-Sack and Juice, before Jax could speak. "this is Kip and Carlos."

So that was what their real names were. He would give that one to his mother. Seriously, how do you introduce someone as Half Sack to a total stranger? They really did live in a bubble, didn't they?

"So Hannah was asking if we do work on Harleys at the shop." His mother said. "The boys all work at Teller Morrow."

"Oh, wonderful." Hannah said, and Jax noticed her beam accordingly at all of them.

"I told her that we would be happy to do any maintenance on her bike that she needed." Gemma continued, giving them a stern look.

"You ride? You're shitting me? Is that your little 883 outside?" Half-Sack asked in amazement.

Oh, this was going smoothly, Jax thought, as the soup continued to seep into his trousers and boxers and his ass was growing cold, as Hannah had easily predicted.

"The cream and brown one? Yes, that's mine." She answered with an adorable kind of pride that Jax thought seemed almost like she was telling a secret. Then something occurred to him. Her parents would probably shit a brick if they knew she was riding a motorcycle. He guessed they must be dead or something or that she hadn't told them.

"Sweet ride." Half-Sack continued excitedly. Gemma raised her brow at Jax. "Nice paint. Nice insert on the seat."

"Nice drool." Juice grimaced, elbowing Half-Sack.

"I'm saving up to get a bike." Half-Sack explained eagerly, not easily daunted as usual.

"What kind do you want?" she asked politely.

At that, there was much coughing and Jax picked up her full face helmet. "Is this your helmet?"

She nodded.

"It looks very—um, protective."

"Oh, well, yes. I used to have a cool-looking beanie. But that all changed when I had a little bit of nasal congestion last summer and was being a bit of a mouth breather. A dragonfly should never be ingested by mouth at forty miles per hour." She sighed, shaking her head with the charming smile.

He grimaced shaking his head.

"It was definitely a pull over and retch moment. I felt so sorry for it too. And dragonflies are my favorite insect."

"Ever sneeze in that full face?" Jax couldn't help but ask.

"Jackson Teller!" He felt the heat of his mother's full wrath upon him, but Hannah leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder and urged him to lean toward her—oh, god, they were perfect lips. No collagen, no scary shade of lipstick.

"That's what the squeegee in my saddlebags is for." She whispered in his ear, starting to giggle.

Jax began to laugh loudly, his eyes never leaving hers, as he shook his head and later refused to share that little nugget of perfect that she had given to him, no matter how the others bugged him on the way back to the shop.


End file.
